


Trail of Blood

by Control_Room, Random_ag



Series: Tortured Tales [10]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Agony, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dehumanization, Implied Death, Maddening Pain, insanity caused by pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: The creature grins all around.
Series: Tortured Tales [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023520





	Trail of Blood

It was a false tranquil. 

It was quiet.

Far, far too quiet. There were no sounds at all. 

Their teeth matched, now. All four of their teeth-- not only four teeth, heavens no. The four of them. 

The teeth of the four of them matched.

It was lovely, the way their shrieks were muffled by their gorgeous teeth and the blood that glistened through it, dripping through those few gaps. 

Gorgeous.

Their eyes did not match.

Neither did their arms. None of their arms. 

It was fascinating how the skin pulled and ripped itself in an attempt to cover the bones that protruded from the system, stretching and scarring. 

It was a fitting end for those freaks. 

After all, they were _so_ close before, why not allow them to be even closer? It would give them what they wanted, right? 

He asked that to _his_ machine. 

It only wailed, annoying its master. 

He banged the side of his fist against it, and it fell silent. 

From beneath their feet a hiss seeped out of paralysed mouths, clenched and pained. Contorted nails scratched through skin, the blood dripping out for but a moment, sealed off by stretching skin once more, a skin that was not skin and never should have covered their flesh. 

“Aren’t they pretty?” Joey whistled. The machine howled. “I know you wish you could hold them, revel with them in their bliss. Wouldn’t you?”

A drawn out moan wrenched from the machine. 

A muffled lament answered from the distorted being, eyes blown in hollow sockets and stumbling as though drunk. 

“I’ll let it out,” Joey mused. “They’d kill anything they see, they’re in too much pain to do anything else. And if they try to… you’ll ensure they _stay on model._ Understand?”

It shrieked. He pressed a remote, and it screamed all the more the pain of electricity adding to the pain of merely existing.

“Understand?”

A low keen followed his words.

He smiled. 

“Good.”

He looked down at them, and by use of a lever, opened a door.

They howled at the sight of the light burning into their lidless eyes. 

The machine begged them to go, to run. 

They could not hear him. Pain riddled their system.

They walked away, leaving a trail of blood as they tore into their flesh, stumbling, walking in turns. 

The trail only grew as they stalked through the halls.

Not through the quantities they were emitting, no.

Though the quantities they caused. 

Joey knew that it was beautiful.

The blood flowed like water. 

However, it was far, far sweeter.

Joey did not drink it, absolutely not, but he poured it into the machine’s basins, its choking, gargling, shrieking like music in its bowels, howls resounding along. 

The thing that once was Wilbur Franks and Eska, a mask and a mirror, scratched their fleshless claws against metal vents, wooden walls, the bone of unfortunate souls.

They smiled all around their deformed skull, howling, maddened with agony.

The machine cried for them.


End file.
